


The Book of Benjamin Slate

by b1gbr1d



Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, My First Fanfic, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, POV Original Character, Pre-Canon, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b1gbr1d/pseuds/b1gbr1d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riley Makepeace is a Shadowhunter with a talent for the scholarly pursuits usually reserved for Silent Brothers and Shadowhunters much older than him. That is, until he receives a strange summons from the Silent Brothers to satisfy the request of one of their prisoners. It is there and through Riley that we are told about the life of Benjamin Slate, a warlock who has lived quite the life and has quite the story to tell. </p><p>Contains all original characters and is researched with the intention of fitting into canon as well as possible, but mistakes happen sometimes. </p><p>Currently a work in progress. More chapters will be added as I finish them.</p><p>If you choose to read my work, I hope you enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

Footsteps echoed through the halls of the Silent City, the walls reverberating with the rare sound of a visitor passing near them. Witchlight cut through the darkness filling the City, held aloft in the hand of a Shadowhunter wearing a formal cloak wrapped around his otherwise casual, summer clothing. A nylon backpack bulged under the cloak and a thick, freshly bound tome sat tucked safely under his arm. The visitor swept his light around the entryway in which he stood, wiping away the shadows like so many cobwebs. His light brown eyes narrowed behind his thin framed glasses, searching for something.

“Hello?” he eloquently called out into the darkness of the centuries-old cavern.

_Mr. Makepeace. You're expected._

The Shadowhunter whirled around, barely managing to hide the slight shudder that always seemed to run up his spine whenever he felt the voice of a Silent Brother. Holding up his witchlight, he illuminated the form of the Silent Brother who had unsurprisingly managed to sneak up on him.

Silent Brothers always sent chills down his spine. He thought it was probably because of how easily he could see himself going down that path, even if he was vehemently opposed to it. The pull of a life of learning and knowledge was far too tempting for his own good. Plus, maybe then he’d be taken seriously. Then again, most Shadowhunters tended to be at least unsettled by their eyeless brethren.

If the Silent Brother had any feelings on the Shadowhunter's reaction, it didn't show, as was common of the expressionless Brothers. He stood patiently, as still as the stone that formed the Silent City itself, waiting for the hapless Shadowhunter to compose himself.

“I- Yes. That's me. Riley Makepeace. I got your message,” Riley stammered, shifting from side to side.

_Have you brought enough materials for your recording?_

Riley glanced down at the weighty book under his arm. “Uh. Yeah. I think I've got plenty.” The Silent Brother turned and gestured for Riley to follow. “Mind if I ask why I'm doing this instead of one of you?” Riley called out as he followed.

The Silent Brother paused for a moment before answering, _The prisoner refuses to speak to any of the Brotherhood._

“Prisoner? What prisoner?” Riley hurried to catch up to the Brother. “What exactly am I doing here? The message just said you needed me to record something.”

The two turned a corner and began descending a narrow staircase dug down into the stone. The ceiling was low and Riley found himself needing to duck as they walked.

_You have been called to assist us in honoring a request from one of our prisoners. He is a warlock of considerable power and he has requested that his life’s story be recorded._

“There's a warlock imprisoned down here? I don't remember hearing anything about a warlock getting captured, not one that did something bad enough to get sent here anyway.”

_He was not captured in your lifetime. It has been approximately four decades since his capture._

The pair continued in silence for a few more minutes, following the narrow stairs. Riley shifted the book uncomfortably to his other arm, juggling it and the witchlight. He hadn’t realized this job would require so much walking.

He was becoming grateful for his cloak that he had begrudgingly donned when he left his home at the Melbourne Institute. The black fabric had made the trip to the Silent City far warmer than it needed to be, but now, down in the chilled bones of the earth, he was grateful for the added layer.

A thought entered Riley’s mind. He cleared his throat and leaned forward a bit. “Um. Excuse me.”

_Yes. We are nearly there._

“Oh. Um. Not what I was going to ask, actually. But thank you.”

_What do you require?_

“Well. I just got to wondering.” Riley pushed up his glasses with the back of his hand. “You mentioned that the prisoner wouldn’t talk to you.”

_Yes I did._

“I didn’t know that was an option.”

_How do you mean?_

“I was always told that you lot can get whatever you want out of there,” he said, gesturing to his forehead.

_As was mentioned, the prisoner possesses considerable power and in addition, even more considerable knowledge. We decided any attempts to enter his mind without his permission would be unwise._

Silence filled the stairway again as Riley thought about that last part. There wasn’t much that could give a Silent Brother pause. Whoever this prisoner was, he made Silent Brothers think twice about messing with him, even after they had him imprisoned.

And Riley was going to interview him.

He began to wonder if he should have brought a weapon with him. He hadn’t expected to need one in the City. After all, they told him that this was just a simple recording job. Maybe he should have come at least a little bit armed.

But then again, the Silent Brothers had kept the prisoner locked up for nearly forty years. Riley figured he could probably trust them enough to keep anything too bad from happening to him.

Couldn’t he?

The stairway ended in a heavy wooden door with iron reinforcements which the Silent Brother opened using a heavy key he drew from within his parchment colored robes. Riley realized that he hadn’t asked the Silent Brother for his name and he figured it would be awkward to ask at this point. Or at least more awkward than interactions with Silent Brothers usually were.

Beyond the door was a dark hallway made of uneven stone that shone with dampness as the light from Riley’s witchlight spilled across its threshold. The light illuminated several thick metal doors that looked significantly newer than the hallway itself. The area beyond the door didn’t smell like the damp mildew odor that Riley would have expected from its appearance. Instead, it smelled like a deep subterranean cavern. The air was cold and sharp and the sense of moisture in the air was crisp and fresh, not stagnant at all.

The Silent Brother walked over to one of the heavy doors, a stele in hand and began drawing a rune on the door. The alien quiet of his movements was only amplified by the oppressive silence of the hallway. Riley began to question whether there were any prisoners down here at all. It was so quiet that he could hear nothing but his own breathing and the beating of his heart.

When the Silent Brother was finished with his rune, a sharp metallic clang pealed out from within the door. The sound probably wasn’t that loud, but down in that hallway, it sounded like a gunshot to Riley as it shattered the delicate quiet. As soon as it had been broken, it abandoned the hallway and was replaced by a cacophonous rushing noise so loud and pervasive, Riley had to wonder if the sound of the door had done something to his ears.

Once his ears had time to adjust, Riley registered that the sound was coming from inside the cell and his ears were, in fact, as healthy as ever. The Silent Brother stood to the side of the open door and gestured inside for Riley to enter.

Slowly and carefully, Riley peeked around the frame of the door and into the cell. He first noticed the source of the rushing noise. The back wall of the cell was conspicuously absent and in its place stood a heavy metal grate, on the other side of which a torrent of water poured downward as if this cell was against the back side of a waterfall. Some of the water sprayed into the room, lightly misting it with water.

Second, once his light passed through the doorway and he had scanned the room, he noticed the cell’s occupant.

Lying on a basic cot pushed up against the wall furthest from the water, right next to the door, was a small, unobtrusive looking man Riley would have guessed was in his thirties if he had been mortal. He had blonde hair and was dressed in rags so dirty and torn that Riley had to wonder what their original color had been. He was lying on his back with his hands tucked behind his head and his eyes were closed as if in sleep.

Riley looked down at this man, this warlock, who was apparently dangerous enough to warrant imprisonment deep within the bowels of the Silent City and couldn’t help but be struck by how normal he looked. He had expected a terrifying man who would make Riley feel the desire to void his bowels and flee from the cell in terror. Instead, the man lying in the cell looked almost pleasant. He couldn’t explain it, but Riley got the impression from the man’s face that any interactions with him would be quick, simple and utterly unremarkable.

The man continued not to move and Riley found himself standing between two statues, the warlock and the Silent Brother. He was about to ask if the Brother had brought him to the right cell when the man finally spoke.

“You’re the recorder?” he said without opening his eyes.

“Yes. That’s me,” Riley responded with ease. The man’s voice was a smooth baritone and Riley was surprised that he spoke with a Midwestern American accent. Riley was not expecting such a mundane accent from a dangerous criminal.

“And you have all the necessary materials?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Riley adjusted the strap of his backpack so it wasn’t digging into his shoulder as much. .

“Fantastic. That will be all we need then,” he said, presumably to the Silent Brother, who didn’t budge. “He’s not gone, is he?”

Riley glanced at the Silent Brother. “No, he’s still there.”

The warlock swung his legs off the bed and stood facing the door, his eyes now open. “I can barely muster enough power to light a candle in here, so one of the mighty Nephilim should be able to subdue me if I get out of hand. You can go now.”

A tense moment passed between the two and then finally, the Silent Brother turned to leave. _The door will be locked behind you. We will check on your mental state regularly to ensure your safety._ Riley heard these words in his head as the door shut behind him but he barely registered them. As soon as the warlock had opened his eyes, the illusion of a calm, unobtrusive man had been broken and Riley had yet to determine what had taken its place.

Nothing had changed in the man’s appearance; he still looked the same as before, but now Riley could see his eyes. And his teeth. The warlock’s eyes lacked any iris or pupil and they were the uninterrupted color of polished gold. His teeth were golden as well. It could have been through the use of some creative dentistry, but after looking at his eyes, Riley suspected the color was natural.

Something about seeing his mark had made Riley suddenly aware of how dangerous this man must be. And the man that, only moments ago, had occupied only a small space in the corner now seemed to fill the entire room with his presence.

With the door closed and the Silent Brother gone, the warlock turned to Riley and held out his hand. “Hi there. Name’s Benjamin. Damn glad to meet you,” he said with a smile that showed off his gold teeth.

“My name’s Riley.” Riley tried to juggle his book and witchlight around in a way that would let him shake Benjamin’s hand.

Benjamin shook his head and chuckled to himself. “Where are my manners? Here, let’s get you settled in first. May I?” he asked, gesturing at the empty tome Riley was holding.

“Go right ahead.”

Benjamin took the book from Riley, who used the free hand to remove his backpack and set it on the ground against the door. He rubbed his shoulders where the straps had dug in during the long walk down. Benjamin was leafing through the empty book, staring at the pages as if they weren’t just blank sheets of paper. “So this is where it’ll go,” he mused quietly to himself.

It seemed that Riley’s ears had adjusted to the noise of the crashing water on the far side of the cell because even against the constant sound, Benjamin’s stillness as he studied that empty book managed to fill the small cell with an uncomfortable feeling that rivaled Riley’s time with the Silent Brother. And it was Riley who felt the discomfort. He somehow got the impression that he was intruding on what was intended to be an intimate moment between Benjamin and the book.

He drew his cloak tighter around himself and began studying the room in an attempt to give Benjamin some measure of privacy. He couldn’t explain it, but it just seemed like the right thing to do.

The room itself was remarkable in its bareness. The cot Benjamin was previously lying on was the only furnishing the room contained. Aside from that, the room was empty. There was no sign of any personal possessions and no semblance of a restroom, although Riley had some suspicions about the additional uses offered by the wall of water. There weren’t even any blankets or pillows on the cot. It was just enough to keep someone alive. The barest minimum.

So of course Benjamin would be so interested in the book. Blank or not, it was the first thing from outside that room he’d seen in forty years. Riley couldn’t even imagine the boredom, the loneliness of forty years in the dark with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company.

It was a wonder Benjamin had any sanity left.

Something caught Riley’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned and shined his witchlight on the wall next to him, inspecting it closer.

It looked like there were symbols carved into it.

He leaned in and ran his hand along the cold, rough stone, feeling the grooves crudely cut into the walls. Riley glanced over at the far wall and saw that yes, there were symbols there too.

Now that he was looking for them, Riley could see that just about every stone surface in the cell was covered in these carved symbols, including the floor and ceiling. They reminded Riley of Egyptian hieroglyphs, but not any that he recognized.

While he pondered the presence and meaning of these symbols, Riley noticed that the sound of turning pages had stopped. When he looked, he saw Benjamin standing patiently behind him, holding the book at his side.

“So, I see you’ve noticed the writing on the wall,” Benjamin said with a grin.

“Yeah, though I’m guessing it’s a bit longer message than just ‘You have been found wanting’ otherwise that’s a damn long way to say it.”

“Yeah, it says just a bit more than that, I’d say.”

Riley turned to Benjamin trying to mask his excitement, “You mean you can read it? What does it say?” He wondered what it could possibly be. Maybe this place was used for something else long before the Silent Brothers got to it, maybe it was left by an ancient sect of Egyptian priests that wandered deep into the Earth and left their secrets on the walls, maybe it was from a lost civilization no one had ever heard of. The possibilities were endless.

“Of course I know what it says.I wrote it,” said Benjamin, removing all of Riley’s previous questions from his mind and spawning several more in their place.

Riley decided to start with a simple one. “What does it say?”

“It’s my notes,” Benjamin said, placing a hand against the stone. “ I’ve lived a long life and I needed to organize my thoughts before I had you write them down.”

Well, that explains what kept him from getting bored for the past 40 years, Riley thought to himself. He looked around the room again, marvelling at the amount of time it must have taken to carve each of the symbols.

“So if you don’t mind, I’m pretty eager to get started. The peace and quiet has been really helpful for getting everything straight in my mind, but I’m sure you can imagine that after forty years of it, I’m ready to start the final product.” Benjamin unhooked the canvas part of his cot from the frame and draped it over his shoulder. Then he picked up the frame and stood it up against the door.

Seeing what Benjamin was doing, Riley picked up his backpack, getting it out of the way. Benjamin placed the folded canvas on the ground in front of the door and gently smoothed it. Riley noted that the symbols on the walls and floor didn’t occupy any of the area he covered with the canvas or frame. “This is where you can sit while you’re recording,” Benjamin stated, righting himself.

It was hard to argue with Benjamin’s reasoning. If Riley had to wait forty years for anything, he’d probably lose it. He sat down on the canvas and leaned his back against the door. The metal was cool and no sound came from the other side.

Benjamin picked up Riley’s backpack and hung it from one of the cot’s legs next to Riley. Once Riley was settled, Benjamin handed the book back to him, then retreated to the other side of the room, near the water.

“So, you got arrested and decided that writing a memoir was a good way to pass the time?” Riley asked.

Benjamin quirked an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth raised ever so slightly. “Yeah. Something like that.”

With calm, practiced grace, Riley drew his writing supplies from the bag hanging next to him and arranged them around him. He did so with one hand, since he needed at least one to keep the light going. As he opened his book to the first page, Benjamin eyed him conspicuously.

“How fast can you write?” Benjamin asked. “I can talk as slow as you need me to. I want to make sure you get everything down.”

“About as fast as you’ve been talking should be fine actually,” Riley responded. He held up his arm and showed Benjamin the Marks on it. “I’m pretty much covered in memory and speed runes to make sure that I can keep up.”

“Excellent.” Benjamin’s eyebrows raised. He looked impressed.

“Not as quick as just grabbing what I need out of your head, but- Why did you want me to do this anyway? Why not one of the Silent Brothers?”

Benjamin looked out beyond the bars at the end of the room, into the pouring water. “I don’t like those weirdos getting inside my head.” He turned back to Riley, a soft, friendly expression on his face. “But mostly because of what you just said. They’re quick and efficient. They’ve got no sense for storytelling. I want to make sure my story is told right.”

“Fair enough, mate.” The unsettling feeling Riley first felt when he saw Benjamin’s warlock mark had mostly worn off at this point. His lack of pupils was still a bit unnerving, but that strange feeling that had struck Riley had mostly passed.

With a number of groans and sighs Riley would normally associate with someone much older than Benjamin looked, Benjamin lowered himself to the ground and sat with his back against the bars, letting the water splash against him. “Could you toss me that light of yours?” he asked with his hand outstretched.

Riley looked incredulously at Benjamin but decided to humor him. He took careful aim and gently threw the witchlight to Benjamin. The room went pitch black for a second as it sailed through the air between them and then the room was lit up again, this time by a deep red light that filled the room with an ominous glow. It wasn’t the best light to write by, but Riley could manage. Doing things in the dark was common for Shadowhunters.

Benjamin held the light in his hands which he rested on his lap. With where he held the light, the shadows produced by the carvings in the walls sharpened and solidified, making the symbols much more visible. Riley couldn’t see them very well from where he was, but he was sure that they were perfectly visible from where Benjamin was sitting. It was an impressive feat of engineering.

And Benjamin had done it in the dark, presumably with a rock.

Suddenly, Riley was excited for the story he was about to hear. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but it had just occurred to him that there was probably no one else alive who had heard Benjamin’s story. At least not all of it.

“Are you ready to get started?” Benjamin asked. The light reflected off his eyes and teeth making it look briefly like he was glowing red from within.

“Sure. Yeah.” Riley picked up an elaborately-designed fountain pen and prepared to write. “Let’s just start with your name and your age.”

“Officially, my name is Benjamin Slate and I am two-hundred-and-thirty-eight years, three months, and twelve days old.”

“Officially?” Riley asked as he began to write.

“Yes. Officially. But you’re not here for the official story. You’re here for the real one.”

Riley thought for a second. “Your official birthday is July fourth, seventeen-seventy-six?”

“Yes sir. Starting to see why I said officially?”

“Yeah. Okay. So what’s your real name and when were you really born?”

“I have had many names in my lifetime. I picked this name because I wanted a clean slate with my identity, and I chose to honor a good friend by naming myself after him.”

“You had a good friend named Benjamin during the birth of the United States?”

“All in good time.” Benjamin smiled. “My age is more difficult. A lot of warlocks lie about their age or claim that they’ve forgotten. Believe me when I say that I actually have forgotten. It’s been so long.”

“My first name was Nedjes,” he continued, “which means ‘The Small.’ It was given to me by my parents in Egypt. Four thousand years ago.”

Riley nearly dropped his pen. The average warlock was a few hundred years old. The oldest that the Clave had on record were barely over a thousand, hardly older than the Shadowhunters themselves. Benjamin’s age was unprecedented several times over.

“But the first name I was proud to hold was Amun of Thebes, and this is my story. The story of how I got my name.”

Benjamin Slate, who was called Nedjes, who was called Amun of Thebes took a deep breath, looked at the notes he had filled the cell with, then he began his story.


	2. Part 1

I should start by saying that this is not going to be an accurate depiction of history. If you want one of those, you should go ask a historian. No, this is my story and I’m going to tell it the way I’m going to tell it. I’m not going to try and replicate how people talked four thousand years ago because frankly, I don’t remember it very well. I’ll do my best to cover everything that happened, but a mind starts to forget things after a few millennia, so don’t freak out if things aren’t “historically accurate.” I want this to be the story of my life, and historical details aren’t that important to that story.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’ll start the actual story.

***

I was born on a farm in Egypt somewhere around two-thousand BC.

At least, I think my family farmed. As far as I can remember, that’s what mundanes did back then when they didn’t live near a city, but I might be wrong. It’s not really important though, so let’s just say they were farmers.

From what I’ve heard from younger warlocks, their human fathers didn’t take too kindly to the idea that the baby they thought was theirs was not only fathered by someone else, but that the someone else in question was a demon. That wasn’t how things worked back in my time. Or at least where I was from.

Granted, my father had some time to ease into the idea of me being demon spawn. You see, when I was younger, I didn’t have the same mark I have now. I’ll get to the particulars of how that happened later, but for now, you just need to know that when I was born, I looked like your average, healthy, baby boy. The only thing that showed my true nature was that I had little nubs of horns growing out of my head.

My parents started off thinking that maybe I just had some kind of weird birth defect or growth, but as time went on, my horns started to grow and it became very apparent what I was and eventually my mother confirmed my father’s suspicions.

He didn’t react as many have in the past few millennia when placed in his situation. He didn’t try to kill the two of us or yell or really get angry at all. He comforted and consoled my mother, understanding that there wasn’t anything that she could have done and that whether I was his child or not, I was his wife’s child and for that he would raise me as his own.

In fact, my father decided to make a statement out of my name. He knew that I was not of his blood but he could connect the two of us in another way. That’s why he decided to name me after himself. It was a lovely gesture and I’m very proud that he wanted to do that for me, but I’m sad to say that after all this time, I have forgotten the name he gave me.

It was common at that time in Egypt for many members of a family to have the same name. I once knew a family that had six sisters all named Neferet. So additional words were added to names to keep them apart. That is how I came by the name Nedjes. It means The Lesser, while my father was called The Greater.

Nedjes can also mean The Small, which is the meaning that it came to have later in my life, albeit more for irony than anything else.

I have met many people in my long lifetime, but my human father, the man I choose to call my true father, was among the best of them. I don’t remember much about him but I do remember that much. For the short time we spent together, he was always good to me and taught me quite a bit. I would go so far as to say he loved me. Even if he knew he couldn’t keep me.

I’ll skip over the details of my childhood. It was calm, peaceful, and most importantly it was mine. So if you don’t mind, I’ll keep this one piece of my life for myself. I had a few brothers and sisters. We lived on a farm. My parents made no effort to hide me because they didn’t think I was anything to be ashamed of. It was an average, boring, happy childhood. Nothing worth mentioning specifically.

In the time of my parents, mundanes were much more educated about our world, the Shadow World as it’s been called lately. It was the function of priests and the wise to collect and relay information of the supernatural to the general populace, which is how my parents knew what I was and how they knew not to drown me in a well like a monster.

Of course, no one was making any efforts to hide the shadow world from mundanes, so information about it flowed across the world just as well as any other information did. These days, mundanes need convincing that all the stories are true. Back in those days, that’s why stories existed. To warn and educate.

That being said, there was another reason that people in and around Egypt were particularly educated about the shadow world at that time. As was the case with me and my parents, warlocks found that it was easier to increase their population if baby warlocks weren’t habitually slaughtered in their cribs. .

In the last few millennia, warlocks have been subjected to prejudice and danger because of what they are. There’s a lot of reasons for that, but more important than why it happened is why it was able to happen. People, Shadowhunters included, have figured out effective ways to kill us Downworlders. But back when mankind had yet to master even the production of steel, they couldn’t have harmed us if they had tried.

We were gods to them, and I don’t mean that figuratively. The ancient world is full of stories of famous and powerful warlocks. The people called them gods and worshipped them as such. So when a baby was born as a warlock, it was viewed as a blessing, not a curse. That child was destined to join the ranks of the gods.  

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I should start with when I first saw another warlock.

I was young, still a child, but my horns had grown out already. They were curled, like a ram’s, and given my tendency to climb things higher than I should have when I was young, the extra head protection was appreciated.

My brothers and sisters and I were out playing in the fields when we saw three riders on camelback coming towards our farm. They were flying banners and one of them was more elaborately dressed than the others. As they got closer, we could see that the less elaborately dressed ones were armed with blades and bows and wore strange shiny clothing.

We were mesmerized by their arrival. We had never seen clothes as ornate as the ones on the lead rider. They wore a pure white robe with gold edging and covered their face with a hood. The weapons of the other riders were also items of great interest to us. We had never seen weapons before. Our father kept a stone axe that he mostly used for chopping wood and kept by the door in case there was trouble, but never had we seen weapons created specifically for combat, especially not metal ones.

So mesmerized were we that we didn’t notice our father approach from behind us. He placed a weathered hand on my shoulder and leaned on his hoe. “Kids, go inside and tell your mother we have company,” he said in a calm, level tone. I turned to go but his hand tightened gently on my shoulder. “Not you, Nedjes.”

“Who are those people, dad?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the riders as they approached.

“They’re others like you. That’s one of the gods and his guards.”

My eyes widened in awe. We spoke frequently of the gods. They were offered our prayers and my older brother told me that one of his friends from another farm had told him that in some places, people were sacrificed to the gods. The fact that I would get to meet them was unfathomable to me, and yet there they were, coming towards my family’s farm to meet me.

That’s when the first thing my father had said really struck me. Others like me. They were gods and they were like me. Did that mean I was one of the gods? Is that why I was so different?

A hundred questions buzzed through my mind, but I pushed them down and stood up straight and tall, wanting to give a good first impression. The camels stopped a few yards from us and the rider in front threw back his hood. He was bald and had the skin of a man who had spent a lot of time under the sun, but like me, he had a mark.

All three of them did, in fact. The man in front had blue lines crisscrossing his skin all over his body, from what I could see anyway. They crossed all over his face and bald scalp and continued onto his hands.

The other two, the ones that carried weapons, wore strange clothing made of a shiny brown metal that I now know to be bronze. They were wearing armor, but I had never seen soldiers so I had no way of recognizing that. Even if I had, theirs would still look strange to me. Egyptian soldiers of that time wore wide straps of leather as armor. Metal armor never really caught on in that region.

It would have been easy to miss the robed rider’s mark if I hadn’t been looking for it. That was not the case for the other two. The one to my right, the younger of the two, looked down at me through three eyes with red irises and a friendly smile on his face. The other one, the one who looked like she’d seen her fair share of combat, had tiny silver scales, like a fish, instead of regular skin and hair as white has the lead rider’s robe.

My father nudged me forward with his hand and the two of us bowed down. “You are here for my son?” he asked from the ground.

“Yes, but please stand, both of you.” We straightened and looked up at the robed man who had spoken. “My name is Merenre. My guards are Itet,” he gestured to the scaled woman. “and Pawura,” he gestured to the three eyed man. “And yes, we are here to talk about your son, but there is plenty of time for that.” Merenre looked passed us to our house. “May we come inside?”

“Of course you may. Our humble home is yours,” my father said hesitantly. He placed a hand protectively around my shoulders and turned towards the house. “Please, follow me.”

I could feel the tension in my father’s arm as we walked. He was clearly nervous around these people and even more so now that we were going to be close to the rest of our family.

The three behind us dismounted from their camels when we got closer to the house and Merenre spoke up again. “Do you have somewhere we can tie up our mounts? Perhaps a place where they can drink?”

My father stopped and glanced between me and the house. He looked down at me. “Show our guests around back. I’ll tell your mother that they’re here.”

“Excellent.” Merenre clapped his hands together and handed his camel’s lead to Pawura. “Here you go, meet us inside when you’re done.”

Pawura took the reins from the three camels and looked to me with a wide smile still on his face. With a squeeze, my father let go of my shoulder and led Merenre and Itet towards the house.

Something was wrong. I didn’t quite know what, but I could tell from how my father was acting that something about these riders made him uncomfortable. The excitement I felt at their arrival was gone and unease had taken its place.

“You can tie them up around back,” I said, a noticeable waver in my voice. “We have a trough they can drink out of.”

I led Pawura around to the trough and he led the camels behind him. As we walked, I noticed that he was staring at me with the same friendly smile on his face as before. He saw that I had noticed and finally spoke. “So, are you excited?” he asked.

The question was confusing. I didn’t know what he thought I was supposed to be excited for. “Um. I guess,” was the best response I could come up with.

“This is a really big day for you. Everything is going to change after today.”

I thought back to what my father had said: you are here for my son. I hadn’t thought about what he could have meant by that, but when I did, one question burned high above the others.

“Are you here to take me away?” I asked fearfully.

Pawura saw my concern and went to tie up the camels at the trough. “In a way, yes.” When he turned back to me, I saw that he was still smiling, but it wasn’t the cheerful grin from earlier. It was a softer, kinder smile. “But it’s not so bad. You’ll see.”

Any excitement I had felt before was gone when he said that. The idea of the gods coming to visit had seemed fun before, but now it had turned scary and I didn’t like it. “Is my family coming with us?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

“No,” Pawura responded. “They’re going to stay here.”

Fear gripped me as I thought about leaving my family. That morning I had been a carefree child. I had no idea I could be leaving my family to go live with people I had never even met. “But why? Why me? Why do I have to come with you?” My voice got louder with each question until I realized I was shouting.

“It’s because you’re special, little one,” Pawura explained. His voice was still calm and friendly, in spite of my childish shouting. “You’re special and you’re needed for things far greater than just a life on a farm.”

“What’s so special about me?” I spat quietly.

“Far more than you realize. You’re one of us, and you belong with us.”

I stopped for a second and thought about that. I never really considered my family to be all that different from me. What could possibly be so different about me that meant I couldn’t be happy living with them? What could be missing? Then I was struck by a sudden and terrible thought. “Am I going to see my family again?”

Pawura blinked all three of his eyes; it looked like the question had caught him off guard. “I’m sorry?”

“Am I going to see my family again? Please, tell me,” I begged.

He turned away from me then. He checked the knots keeping the camels in place while he answered. “It’s possible, but I’m sorry to say that it’s not very likely.”

Tears began to well up in my eyes and I tried to fight them back. My family was all I had ever known. I had never lived life without them. Hearing that I might never see them again drew out a sadness I had never felt before.

“I’m going to miss them,” I said, my voice cracking. It was all I could think to say and it was the only thought in my mind.

“I know you are, little one,” Pawura said with a sigh as he knelt down in front of me. He placed his hands gently on my shoulders and I could feel the strength in them. “We all miss our families when they are no longer with us, we miss anyone we care about when they’re gone. That’s a part of being alive.”

“That’s stupid,” I said with a frown.

“Do you want to know what helps me?”

I nodded with a sniff.

“To me, our lives are like stories. Do you like stories?”

Again, I nodded. Curious about what he meant.

“Well, you know how when someone really good at it tells you a story, it seems like the things in the story are actually happening and the people in it are actually alive again?”

I thought about my oldest sister. She had always been a great storyteller. Most of the stories she told were ones she made up, but sometimes when she went into town with my father, she would come back with new stories to tell us. I loved listening to her stories. Then I remembered that I might not ever see her again so I just said, “Yeah,” and tried not to think about it.

Pawura gave my shoulders a comforting squeeze. “That’s because they are alive. They live on in the stories we tell. So in the story of our lives, the people we love are still with us as long as we remember our stories. The beginning of a story doesn’t go away just because you’re at the end. It’s just waiting to be told again.”

This was a new idea to me. It was comforting. And it made me smile again. It was a small one, but it was a smile.

“So even after you leave here, just remember that your family will always be with you as part of your story. And you may not know it yet, but I just know you’re going to have a great story to tell some day.” He gave my horns a gentle rap with his knuckles.

The sadness that had filled me had receded. It was still there, but it has lessened and my curiosity had returned a bit. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. “So where are you taking me?”

“How about we go inside and find out together?” Pawura said, springing to his feet. His face had returned to the cheerful grin I first saw him wear and he held out a hand to me. “Your parents probably think we got lost on the way to the back of the house.”

I reached up and took Pawura’s hand and the two of us walked to the front of the house.

 

 


	3. Part 2

When I walked back into my house, whatever calm I had gained from talking to Pawura left me the second I saw my parents again. The two of them were standing by the far wall. It looked like my mother had been crying. She was turned away from my father and his hand was placed on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. On the opposite side of the room, Merenre sat calmly, holding a mug of water and Itet stood at his side. My brothers and sisters were nowhere in sight. 

The tension in the room was almost tangible at that point. Merenre looked calm and relaxed, but I could see that although Itet stood as still as a statue, she was glaring at my parents. I wondered what had happened while I was with Pawura. 

Everyone turned to look at me as Pawura and I walked into the room. I shut the door behind us and stood, not sure where to go. Pawura left my side and went to join Itet, standing by Merenre. Merenre was the first to speak.

“Are the camels taken care of then?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, sir,” Pawura responded. 

“Excellent.” 

Merenre held the mug out to Itet without looking and she took it from him, setting it aside as he stood. “Now, I believe we all know why we’re here, so why don’t we begin with some questions?”

“Ask whatever you like,” my father responded. He pulled my mother in closer to him.

Merenre cleared his throat. “Well then, first things first. Who is the boy’s father?”

My mother screwed her eyes shut and she looked as if she had been slapped. I was, of course, very confused. When no one answered, I spoke up. “Well, he is,” I said, pointing to my father. 

When I said that, my father’s eyes avoided mine and my mother’s lip trembled. 

“Yes. You’re right, honey. Yes he is,” my mother said to me. She had opened her eyes to look at me and I could see that they were brimming with tears. 

“Well obviously that’s not true, or I wouldn’t be here,” Merenre announced. “Now, who is the boy’s real father?”

My mother turned away from me to glare at Merenre. Her hands balled into fists and she bared her teeth as she growled out, “His name is Hanbi.” 

As soon as the name left my mother’s mouth, Merenre, unperturbed by my mother’s anger, raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirked in a slight smile. “Hanbi? Hmm. Interesting. Very interesting.” He turned to speak to Itet. “That will make him one of Phenix’s.”

Itet nodded in response, not taking her eyes off of my parents. 

“Mom?” I asked. 

I looked back and forth between Merenre and my parents. I was so confused. Who was Hanbi? And what did they mean when they said he was my real father? Maybe this was all just a bad dream. I know everyone says that when something strange or terrible happens to them, but at the time, I really thought it could be. Everything that had happened that day was so strange. Maybe I was just asleep. 

But unless I’m still dreaming, I was very much awake. 

Everyone ignored me and Merenre continued with his questions. “So then. The next question is obvious. Has the boy ever shown a proficiency with magic?”

My parents looked up at Merenre and then at each other. “I’m sorry?” My father asked.

With a sigh, Merenre repeated himself, “Has the boy ever shown a proficiency with magic?” He looked expectantly at my parents and they only returned blank stares. Merenre thought for a second and then he tried again. “Has anything in your house ever moved without anyone touching it or have you ever found the boy with something he wanted that he didn’t have previously? Strange phenomena of any kind? Things you can’t explain?”

Then, as if they remembered I was in the room, my parents both turned to look at me, their faces painted with almost as much confusion as my own. I could see both of them thinking back, mentally going through my life with a fine-toothed comb, looking for anything out of place.

When they didn’t find anything, they looked at each other and saw that neither of them could think of anything. Then they turned back to Merenre. It was my mother who responded this time. “No, sir. I don’t think anything like that has ever happened.” 

As soon as she said this, I noticed a shift in the three strangers in my house. It was obvious in Pawura. His smile melted from his face and he set his jaw in a stony, neutral countenance. It was difficult to describe how Itet changed. Before, she was as still as stone, but now, even though she wasn’t moving at all, it looked like she was getting ready to spring forward, like an energy was building within her. Her face, on the other hand, looked incredibly calm. Serene even. And Merenre just looked like he’d been told something very disappointing. 

Then, the lines on Merenre’s skin began to glow and he raised his hands towards my parents. Without warning, the two of them were flung back against the wall by some invisible force. 

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Merenre turned towards his two bodyguards. “Kill them both. Then go and find the siblings,” he said dispassionately. 

My eyes shot wide in disbelief as Itet and Pawura drew their weapons and advanced on my helpless parents. This couldn’t be happening. People didn’t kill people. In stories and in far away places, sure, but it was always somewhere far away, not in my own home. 

But regardless of how I thought things were supposed to be, there were still two armed soldiers walking across my living room to kill my parents as a man pinned them to the wall with magic. 

My mind raced as I looked frantically around the room. There had to be something I could do. Some way I could stop this. 

But all it took was one look at the calm expression on Merenre’s face as he held my parents there and my despair and fear were set aflame and the greatest anger I had ever felt burned through me, wiping away any fear. 

Without warning, I burst forward and charged at Merenre. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I did know that I wanted him to hurt.  
Pure, feral rage coursed through me and I let out a shriek as I closed the distance. He turned and appeared to notice me for the first time and his face lit up with something resembling satisfaction. 

In that moment, I knew what I was going to do. 

I lowered my head and with all the strength I could muster, I put my entire body into driving the blunt curve of my horns into the side of Merenre’s knee. The two of us toppled over in a tangle and there was a crash as he collided with a table. Mildly dazed from the collision and disoriented from the fall, I began striking out at anything I could find, hoping to land as many blows on Merenre as I could. 

Then my vision was filled with a blue light and I felt myself being lifted into the air and dropped against the far wall. I shook my head to clear my vision and saw that Merenre was lying on the ground, breathing heavily. The leg that I had run into was twisted at an unnatural angle. I noticed that Pawura and Itet were holding blades to my parents’ throats and had turned to watch Merenre and I.

The two of us slowly righted ourselves. I pushed myself to my feet and Merenre rolled into a crouch, putting his weight on his uninjured leg. This put his head at a level where I could reach it with my horns. 

I saw the opportunity to hurt him more and I took it. With a snarl, I lunged forward again, set on bashing in that bald head of his, but before I had even covered half the distance to him, the lines on Merenre’s body flashed blue and I was hurled back against the wall again. 

Quicker than the last time, I threw myself to my feet and charged again, only to find myself tossed against the wall again. Yet again I charged and again I was thrown back. Over and over I tried and every time I was stopped before I got even half way. 

At some point, I noticed that I had been screaming and as I continued to fail in reaching Merenre, screams turned to sobs. Gradually, getting up became difficult and my body protested in exhaustion and pain.  
Finally, when I tried to stand up, I wobbled on my feet and pitched over. I caught myself against the wall, but I was too tired to run. 

Through gritted teeth, Merenre began to taunt me. 

“You want to hurt me don’t you? Want to stop me even? Well what are you waiting for? Hurt me!” 

I looked around me for anything I could get my hands on. I found a discarded water mug on the floor and I threw it as hard as I could in Merenre’s direction. He flashed blue again and it shattered in mid-air. 

“Come on boy, you’re going to have to do better than that. Hurt me!” 

Looking around for anything else, I saw my father’s axe leaning by the door. I stumbled over to it and barely managed to heft it with both hands, but before I could do anything with it, the axe was wrenched from my hands as Merenre glowed once more. The wooden haft burst into flames and the stone head crumbled to pieces. 

“Your parents are going to die and it’s all your fault,” Merenre said gravely. 

I sank to my knees and wept because I knew he was right. I had tried everything I could and there was nothing I could do to save them. I knew for a fact that my parents were doing to die and it was because of me. I closed my eyes and waited for it all to be over. 

Then Merenre spoke.

“Release them,” he said. 

I looked up and saw Pawura and Itet stepping away from my parents and putting their weapons away. Itet looked as stoic and businesslike as ever, but Pawura just looked ashamed. The two of them approached Merenre and helped him to his feet. 

“Go to your son. Comfort him,” said Merenre solemnly. 

Without hesitation, my parents rushed over to me and surrounded me in an embrace between them. They both sobbed as they desperately clung to me and to each other. I could do nothing but just hang there in their arms. All the life and energy had left me. The anger I had felt before had burned everything out of me, but now relief washed through me, dousing the flames and leaving nothing but void in its wake.

A sound like a series of great gusts of wind filled the room and then there were several light thuds against the floor, but I didn’t bother to look up. What happened outside of the safety of my parents’ arms wasn’t important, at least not then. Their arms held me tight and safe for a while; how long exactly, I can’t say, but long enough that when their hold began to loosen and we started to pull apart, we were ready to face the world again. 

When my face was clear of my parents’ embrace, I saw that our house had been put back to normal and cleaned considerably. As I took in the room, I saw that it was actually better than normal. The furniture was back in place and repaired from any damage it sustained in my struggles against Merenre and my father’s axe had been replaced by a finely-made axe with a blade of bronze. 

Even the mug that I had thrown at Merenre had been repaired and was sitting on a table. I found myself wondering why it had not simply been replaced, but I was glad that it hadn’t. My oldest sister had made it out of clay. It wasn’t the nicest mug, but my father used it more than any other. 

I pulled my gaze away from the mug and brought my thoughts back to the present. Merenre was leaning on Itet for support, his marks once again glowing with that same blue light, and he was holding his hand against his injured knee. After a moment, he took a deep breath and stopped glowing as he gently shifted to distribute his weight evenly between both feet. Seeing that he was apparently no longer injured, he drew away from Itet. 

Pawura was standing just behind his two companions, somehow managing to look sad, apologetic, happy and relieved all at once. The energy that had filled Itet moments ago had faded and what little expression she showed before had returned to her face. 

“I am truly sorry for what I just did,” Merenre began. “I understand that you’re probably very upset with me and want nothing to do with us, but if any of you were at all injured, I can help with that if you so choose.”

Neither of my parents moved and I certainly wasn’t going anywhere. My head hurt a little and I was sore from my collisions with Merenre’s knee and the wall, but other than that, I was just exhausted.  
Seeing that we were choosing not to take his offer, Merenre continued. “As you were just able to plainly see, I have the ability to do things others cannot do. As you might guess, I have the talent to use magic.”  
This information wasn’t entirely surprising. The gods were supposed to have power greater than that of mortals. 

“This is a talent I was born with. I asked you if your son had shown any signs of something similar because usually by his age, those with the talent have shown signs.” Merenre looked around the room, looking away from my parents and me. “But I had to be sure. I threatened your lives because those with latent magical talent will manifest it if they become sufficiently upset or threatened.” 

“So you threaten our lives, terrify our son and destroy our home?” my father demanded angrily. 

Merenre looked back at him, his face calm and neutral. “As you can see, your home has been restored, and we believe that a few minutes of fear is worth knowing for sure. And now we do know.” His gaze turned to me. “Your son does not have the talent to wield magic.”

The feeling that followed this information was a strange one. It was not like being told I could never walk or be a painter, because it was something I had never even considered as a possibility. I had never had time to desire magic and it was denied to me seconds after I learned of its existence. I was disappointed, but it was a dull, small feeling, and it was buried under the rest of the day, so it seemed so insignificant at the time. 

I didn’t know it, but that was a very important day for me. 

That was the day I learned that I was an Ifrit.


	4. First Interlude

Benjamin waited patiently as Riley’s writing caught up with the story. As his hand finished forming the last word, Riley looked up from his book. 

Ifrit, it said. It was right there, written by his own hand, but Riley could hardly believe it. 

When a child is born from the union of a demon and a human, there are two possible outcomes. The first is a warlock, a child born with some kind of mark that shows their demonic parentage, and the ability to control magic. The second outcome is an Ifrit. These children are also born with marks, but they have no magical abilities at all. 

The cell was quiet as Benjamin paused in his story. “I understand that it’s a lot to take in.”

“A lot to take in? Yeah, just a little bit,” Riley said sarcastically. “You start off by telling me that you’re at least four times older than any warlock we’ve ever heard of and now you tell me that you’re not even a warlock?”

“That’s about the size of it, yeah,” Benjamin replied. “It sounds ridiculous, I know. I get that.”

“Ridiculous? It sounds bloody impossible. Okay, wait. So why did the Silent Brothers tell me that a dangerous warlock lived in this cell?”

“Because I do.” Benjamin held up his hand and let water run down his arm. “I would prove it to you, but if I could, then this would be a pretty terrible prison, wouldn’t it?”

“Right, so let me get this straight,” Riley shut the book and put down his pen. “Four thousand years ago, your name was Nedjes, you were an Ifrit, and your mark was horns growing out of your head,” Riley said, holding up a finger for each point.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Benjamin said, nodding.

“And now your name is Benjamin, you’re a warlock, and your mark is your gold eyes and teeth.” He held up three more fingers.

“Also right.”

It looked as if Riley was about to say something, but then he thought of something. “Oh okay. I get it. I get what’s going on here.”

Now it was Benjamin’s turn to look confused. “I’m telling you my life story? Yes, that’s what’s going on here.”

“Is this like when you say that a friend is going through something but you really mean you, except in reverse?” Riley asked through narrowed eyes. 

Now, Benjamin opened his mouth as if to respond, but thought better of it and closed it. Then when he had considered all the facts, he responded. 

“What?” he asked.

“This is someone else’s life story and you’re just telling it for them.” Riley crossed his arms in a smug expression of victory. 

“Huh? No. What? No, not at all.”

Riley visibly deflated. “Then what the hell is going on here?” he sputtered.

“I told you,” Benjamin explained, as if to a child, “I’m telling you my life’s story and you’re writing it down.”

“No, yeah I know that. But how does an Ifrit become a warlock and how does anyone change their mark?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions.” Benjamin smiled. “As for the answers, you’re just going to have to wait for those.”

“What? Why?” Riley shouted, now visibly upset. 

“Because if I told you, then you’d just have more questions and I’d have to answer those and those would create more questions and so on and so on. I’d rather not tell my story is reverse while I’m already telling it forwards.” Benjamin held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “You’ll know everything eventually.” 

Riley rubbed his hands on his face and stood up. “You know what? Fine. I don’t even care. I’m just the guy who’s writing the damn thing down. I’m going to go stretch my legs for a second.” He turned and knocked on the door, sliding the cot frame out of the way. “Besides, listening to running water for this long is really making me have to pee.”

Benjamin shrugged as he took the opportunity to stand as well. “You get used to it eventually.” He stretched with a dull popping of joints. “But yeah, I remember when I first got here. It felt like I spent the majority of my time pissing.”

The door latch clanged as it came unlocked, confirming Riley’s suspicions that it wasn’t nearly as loud as it had seemed in the quiet hallway. The door swung open, revealing a Silent Brother waiting in the hallway. 

_You called?_

“Yeah, I just need to take a bathroom break,” Riley said, stepping towards the doorway.

_This way._ The Silent Brother slid aside, letting Riley past, before shutting the door behind him. As soon as the door was closed, the sound of rushing water ceased abruptly. The Brother walked down the hallway a little further and opened another cell, once again filling the hallway with the same sound. Riley figured that all of these cells must be under the same waterfall. 

The cell the Silent Brother opened was unoccupied and a chamber pot sat in the middle of the floor. _These are the accommodations we have available to you, unless you wish to return to Melbourne._

Riley eyed the chamber pot warily, but weighed against the idea of walking back up those stairs every time he needed to use the bathroom, the chamber pot didn’t seem so bad. He turned to the Silent Brother, who may or may not have been the same one that first met him. Riley could never be sure. All Silent Brothers looked the same to him. 

“Thanks, but this’ll be fine,” he said, stepping into the empty cell. 

The Silent Brother didn’t close the door, but he did step out of view, which made sense. It would have made no sense to lock Riley in just for a bit of privacy. It wasn’t like he had to worry about a Silent Brother peeking anyway. 

Even so, Riley made sure to turn his back on the door when he did his business. 

***

When Riley returned to Benjamin’s cell, he found the warlock sitting back where he had been against the far wall. The door swung shut behind him and Riley started to dry his hands, using his cloak like a towel. 

“Ready to get back to it?” Benjamin asked energetically.

“Two seconds.” Riley was now rubbing his cloak on his arms, drying himself off to above the elbow. 

Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “Did you have some problems while you were in there?”

“You know, it’s a bit hard to wash your hands properly in a waterfall,” Riley said in response.

“Ah, right. I suppose a life of perpetual dampness isn’t for everyone.”

Riley shifted the cot frame back into place and hung his cloak up next to his backpack before sitting back down. He picked up the book and pen and started searching for the page he had been on. “Right, so what’s next?”

He would never admit it out loud, but Riley was burning with curiosity. If finishing the story was the only way to get his questions answered, then that’s what he was going to do.

Benjamin cleared his throat. “I had just found out that I was an Ifrit.”


	5. Part 3

This was a very important day for me. It was the day I saw magic for the first time, real magic, and it was the day I was told that the power I had been shown was something I could never attain. And it was the last day I spent with my family. 

After Merenre explained himself, my family and I calmed down. We still didn’t trust him, but we were willing to listen to what he had to say. We were all seated in the main room of the house and Merenre had conjured food and drink for us all to share, which we ate and drank only after we had seen him do so first. 

“Your son is very important, regardless of magical talent,” Merenre explained. “He is like my bodyguards, Pawura and Itet, destined for the life of a soldier.”

“A soldier?” my mother asked, concerned. “But he’s just a boy.”

“Childhood means very little to our kind. We are children for only a few years, but we have the potential to live forever.” Merenre looked at me where I sat between my parents. “It is merely a time when we are smaller and weaker, and vulnerable to the dark forces who would seek to do us harm.”

“Dark forces? What do you mean?” This time it was my father who spoke. 

“The job of a soldier is to fight, but the adversary of our army is not of this world and those that lead it know that we spend our early years, our childhood, being small and weak, and they would seek to reduce our numbers in any way they can.”

“You’re speaking in circles and riddles,” my father said. “Can’t you just tell us what you mean? What adversary? What do you mean not of this world? And what does this have to do with our Nedjes?”

Merenre let out a sigh and rubbed at his temples. “I can’t tell you much. It would put you in danger if you knew everything.”

“Please, anything you can,” my mother implored.

“Here are the basic facts. Your son is special. There are those that would want to hurt him just because he is. If he stays here, he will not be safe, but if he comes with us, then there is nowhere safer.”

My parents paused in contemplation. They took each other’s hands and both looked down at me. “And if he goes with you, he’ll be a soldier?” my mother asked timidly.

“Yes. He’ll be trained to fight the enemies that he’s had since his birth and he will be given purpose and direction.” Merenre said gently. “He will have a good, meaningful life,” he added. 

There was another pause between my parents and then my father began to speak, but my mother stopped him. “Then for his safety and the safety of our other children, we will do as you ask.” My father pulled the three of us together in an embrace.

I still felt empty inside from my fight with Merenre so this information, the decision that I would be leaving my home for good, did not hit me as hard as it should have. Magic, enemies I’ve had since birth, becoming a soldier. None of it seemed real. It was all so big and important sounding and I was just a small child on a farm. It didn’t seem possible that this could all be about me. 

I faintly remember Merenre telling us to take the night to say goodbye and that we would leave in the morning. And then the three of them left the house. I didn’t know where they were going and I didn’t much care. 

When the three strangers had left the house, my parents called my brothers and sisters into the room and explained to them that I would be leaving. Preparing to never see someone again is a strange way to spend an evening, and not something that most people know how to handle. We did our best though, and I still cherish that night.

I’ll skip over the details of that evening and night. This recording is intended to preserve my story so that it can be entered into history, and history has no need to know how I spent the last few hours I had with my family. 

There are several things in my life that I will keep for myself. Like my early childhood, this is one of them. I have very little left, but this is one of the few things I still have, so forgive me if I hold onto it tightly. 

Just know that we spent the night well. It wasn’t a celebration, but it wasn’t an entirely sad occasion either. It was a goodbye in its purest form and everything that comes with that. 

And then came the morning. 

We walked out of the house, my whole family and I, and saw that Merenre and his guards had set up a large tent a little ways in front of our house; where they had been keeping it, I didn't know. They were waiting in front of it with their camels ready to leave. It looked like they were waiting for me to come to them. 

Great changes in our lives produce all kinds of powerful feelings. There are those that are suddenly thrust upon us, the ones that give us no time to feel until well after they've happened. There are the ones we plan for, the culmination of work and planning that feels like a reward unto itself. Then there are those that simply require a step. That was the change I faced then. 

It was as if all my life I had walked a simple path, not paying attention to where it carried me, but now I had reached a great chasm and from here forward even the ground beneath my feet would be foreign. All you have to do is take one step and you are struck by a feeling of complete awareness as the world suddenly becomes unfamiliar and there is no precedent to follow. 

I took a step and left my family.

I walked over to where Merenre stood flanked by Pawura and Itet. They greeted me wordlessly, understanding before even I did that I didn’t want to talk. 

Pawura offered me his camel and helped me up into the saddle. I had never ridden an animal before, but this just seemed like one more drop in the sea of changes I was experiencing.

Once I was safely on, Itet and Merenre mounted their camels as well. Pawura walked in front of the camel I rode and led it down the path away from my house. 

As we passed it, I noticed that the tent they had set up was still there. I could see inside it from here and I saw that it was filled with bushels of fruit, bolts of fine cloth, barrels of good drink, and more luxuries than I could count in the brief moment I had to see inside. 

Pinned to the outside of the tent was a short note that simply said, “This is not in exchange for your son, but we hope it helps to comfort you in your grief.”

I took one last look at my family and then we were off. 

***

We rode all morning without speaking. Merenre led the way and we followed in a line behind him. The landscape gradually became unfamiliar as we travelled further from my home than I had ever been before. It was an exciting thought at first, but I would soon discover that the world was more or less the same outside my familiar radius. 

The sun climbed high into the air as we rode and I retreated inward into my own thoughts, far away from this strange journey I was on.

The feeling of the camel shifting beneath me was a strange one and over time it shifted from strange to uncomfortable. Egypt is a very warm place, so we generally didn’t wear much in the way of clothing. Merenre’s robes were unusually covering from my experience at the time. In fact, children would spend most of their time not wearing any clothes at all since clothing was expensive and largely unnecessary in the summer heat.

I was old enough at this point in my life that I didn't run around in the nude, but even then the only clothing I wore was a simple garment called a shenti. For those not versed in ancient Egyptian fashion trends, a shenti is more or less a kind of linen skirt or kilt. I’m simplifying greatly here, but the important thing to note is that I was riding a camel for the first time, in basically a kilt, on a hot day in Egypt. 

The insides of my legs were on fire. 

It came on slowly and for a while I didn't notice. I was still numb from leaving my home and family and things like physical discomfort seemed distant and unimportant.

But now the pain had broken through my numbness into the forefront of my mind and it was awful. My skin chafed where it rubbed against the camel, and the muscles in my legs and lower back had begun to ache, not to mention a pain that I would describe as more personal than history needs to know about. 

The pain had brought the world back into focus, and I looked around at my surroundings. I had been mentally absent for most of the trip so far and I realized that we had traveled off the main roads and we were now a good way out into the desert. 

I wondered for the first time where they were taking me. So many of my thoughts had been focused on leaving home that I had paid little mind to where I was going. I thought about what kind of place the gods might live in, trying to distract myself from the pain in my lower extremities. It didn't exactly work.

After a few minutes of shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a less painful way to ride, I drew Pawura’s attention. “Of course, how foolish of me,” he said in a concerned tone. “Your body isn't used to riding. You must be in a great deal of pain right now.” 

Of course, he wasn't wrong, but I didn't want to admit to him that I wasn't up to the simple challenge of riding a camel at a slow walk. Despite my pride, I nodded. I didn't know how much longer we were going to be riding, and I thought that maybe Pawura knew of a way to make the rest of the journey less painful. 

He turned and looked back in the direction we were travelling and turned back to me. “We should be reaching an oasis soon. We’ll all need water, especially the camels, so you’ll be able to rest for a bit there.”

I swallowed hard at the thought of riding for much longer, but the thought of a break strengthened my resolve. Besides, I thought grimly, I was going to be a soldier. I needed to get used to more than just the discomfort of riding a camel. 

We rode for a little while longer and after we crested a dune, I was able to see the Dunqul Oasis in the distance. I actually don’t remember if that’s what it was called back then, or if it had a name at all, but that’s what it’s called now.

When we reached the edge of the oasis, I attempted to swing myself down onto the ground, but my legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate. They were stiff and sore when I tried to move them, and climbing down off the camel was proving to be more difficult that I had anticipated. 

Seeing the difficulty I was having, Pawura came over to the side of my camel. “Your legs are going to be stiff from riding for that long. Here, let me help you down,” he said, extending his hands.  
I took his hands without comment and he pulled me sideways off the saddle. For a second I thought he was just going to drop me on the ground, but instead he lifted me by the arms and set me down gently on my feet. 

He kept his hands on mine to steady me and I immediately realized why. My legs felt like a newborn’s and wobbled when they took my weight, nearly giving out. My rear and groin were numb for a moment, but that was quickly replaced with more pain. As I straightened, my lower back screamed in pain and I was suddenly very appreciative of the support Pawura preemptively offered. 

When I at least felt like my legs weren’t going to collapse under me, Pawura helped me walk over towards the water. We passed by a few trees and bushes and reached the edge of the cool, clear water. 

“Will you be okay from here?” Pawura asked, gently lessening the support he was giving me. 

I took my full weight back onto myself and found that though I was still a little wobbly, I could walk just fine again. “Yes,” I responded. My voice sounded strange to me, and I realized that I was the first word I had spoken since that morning. It might have also been because I hadn’t had much to drink since then either. 

“I need to water the camels, but you can take as long as you need to feel better over here.” Pawura started to walk back to where we had left the camels. “Oh, and let me know if you want anything to eat. I’m sure you must be hungry.” And with that, he disappeared back behind the trees. 

He was right, I was incredibly hungry, but first I needed to tend to my saddle soreness. I took off my shenti and stepped gingerly into the water. It was blessedly cool against my raw skin and it looked clear and clean. Gradually, I lowered myself in until only my head was above the water. I closed my eyes and let myself float in cool oblivion for a moment as my aching muscles recovered. 

Remembering my thirst, I simply opened my mouth and let water flow in, soothing my parched throat. I drank and enjoyed the break from the hot sun and the abrasive back of the camel. 

While I floated, I began to think about how much fun my siblings and I could have in a place like this, but when I remembered that I might never see them again, the sweet thought turned bitter and I forced it out of my mind, opening my eyes. 

I turned my thoughts back to the present and stood up, testing my legs. I didn’t know how long I had floated in the water, but when my legs took my weight again, they only wobbled a little as I walked out of the water. Riding in wet clothes would undoubtedly be uncomfortable, but I was confident that the hot desert sun would dry the thin cloth before we left again, so I didn’t wait for myself to dry before I redressed. 

Once I was clothed, I looked around the oasis and spotted the camels drinking from the water a little further down from me. I followed the edge of the water towards them, hoping to find Pawura, and food to fill my rumbling stomach. 

Pawura and the other two were sitting further back from the water, just behind the camels. When I found them, they were sitting on stools around a square wooden table laden with fruits and meat.  
There was a fourth stool that sat empty near the table and Pawura gestured towards it when he saw me. Merenre was eating a handful of shriveled-looking, brownish-red fruits and Itet was tearing into some kind of meat still attached to the bone. 

I hadn't paid much attention to her before, but seeing her with her silver scales sparkling in the sunlight as she ripped at the meat in her hand with her teeth made me very aware that Itet was a very intimidating woman. 

So when I sat down on the stool they had set aside from me, it was no accident that I was sitting much closer to Pawura than to Itet. I did so slowly and gingerly. The water had helped with the pain, but it hadn't removed it completely. Once seated, I eyed the table, looking over my options. I settled on some sliced melon and a handful of nuts.

We ate more or less in silence, interrupted only by the sounds of eating. I was beginning to realize that they weren’t a very talkative group of people. What I wouldn't learn until much later is that their lack of conversation was a conscious decision to give me time to process everything that was happening and to make sure they didn't overwhelm me. 

Once we all had our fill, we stood and Pawura gave me one of his wide grins before looking off towards where we had left the camels. “Want to see if we can make your ride more comfortable?” 

I nodded eagerly and walked with him to the edge of the water. 

Just as we reached the camels, I heard a familiar sound like the gusting of wind and I looked back to where we had been eating. I saw that the lines on Merenre’s body were glowing blue again and with a few waves of his hands, the stools, table and all of the food that was left disappeared.

I gaped openly at this sight. Pawura noticed my amazement and chuckled. “Ah yes. I forget sometimes that magic takes some getting used to.”

“Magic?” I asked, snapping my jaw shut. 

“Of course,” Pawura explained, “Merenre has the talent for it, and you’ll soon meet many more like him.”

Yesterday, when Merenre spoke with my parents about magic, I had been too distracted by everything else that had been going on that it hadn’t really sunk in what was being talked about. This was magic, the kind of thing that only happened in stories, and yet here I was watching it happen right before my eyes. 

Pieces started to fall into place in my mind and I fully realized that yesterday I had broken the knee of one of the gods and felt his magic as he had used it to hurl me across a room. In addition, seeing how Merenre disposed of our lunch let me know how he had managed to set up and fill the tent in front of my parents’ house. 

Magic.

“He really is one of the gods,” I mused aloud.

Pawura broke me out of my stunned state with a hearty, barking laugh. “Merenre? A god? Oh far from it, little one.” 

“But he can use magic, and he has the mark and everything,” I said, bewildered. 

Pawura sighed and then held out his hands in front of him, “Here, let’s get you up on the camel.”

I stepped towards him and he lifted me up and sat me sideways on the camel’s back. “There,” he said. “Just sit like that and things should hurt a lot less. You’ll still be sore in the morning though. There’s no avoiding that.”

This way was certainly more comfortable, and it put the fabric of my shenti between my skin and the saddle. The improvement in comfort briefly took my mind off of topics like magic and gods, but that didn't last long.”

“Why did you say Merenre isn't a god?” I asked persistently. 

“Well, because he’s not, little one,” Pawura responded hesitantly.

“But my parents said-” 

Pawura cut me off. “Your parents said only what they themselves believe to be true.” 

I tried to come up with a response, but before I could, Pawura held up a hand and halted my inevitable stream of questions. 

“We let mortals, people like your parents, believe that we are gods and their soldiers because it makes things easier for us. We never take advantage of their worship for our own gain, we just use it to make sure they don’t try to hurt us for the things we do or how we look.”

“Why would they do that?” I asked, starting to understand.

“People like to blame those that are different for their problems, it’s an easy way of explaining things to themselves. This way we make sure that the respect us enough to keep their distance. Besides,” he added,” If they did, they’d end up being the ones that got hurt, and we don’t want that.”

I thought about that. It seemed to make sense, at least the way he explained it anyway. More questions buzzed through my mind, but I thought I could wait to ask them. One question seemed simple and innocent enough, so I asked it. “Why did you leave all those things for my parents?”

Pawura’s grin didn't fade, but it did change. It was still a smile, but it had a bit of sadness to it. “All of us, every single one, started off like you, being taken from our parents,” he said softly. “When we take a child like you from your home, it reminds us of our own parents and the day we had to leave them, and I guess in a way, when we do something like taking care of your parents, it’s like we’re watching out for our own.”

I stared for a second. I had never considered that. All of them knew exactly what I was going through, and we were going to a place where everyone there did too. It was comforting, and suddenly I didn't feel quite so alone. It must have shown on my face because Pawura broke into his grin again. 

“Now, let’s get going before the other two leave without us,” he said with a wink, which looks very strange on a three-eyed man. 

He led the camels over to where Merenre and Itet were waiting and once they were mounted up, we continued on our journey.


End file.
